


What Are You Doing New Year's Eve?

by menel



Category: Daredevil (TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Accidental shooting, Banter, Canon-Typical Violence, Christmas Eve, Domestic Fluff, Family, Feelings Realization, Getting Together, Holidays, Idiots in Love, Lunch, M/M, Mistletoe, New Year's Eve, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:27:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21997504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/menel/pseuds/menel
Summary: Frank invites Matt to a New Year’s Eve party. Matt agrees because busting up the Owl’s drug trade seems to be a great way to bring in the new year. It’s what happensafterthe party that he isn’t expecting.Written for the 2020 New Year's Day Daredevil Exchange.
Relationships: Frank Castle/Matt Murdock
Comments: 47
Kudos: 207
Collections: DDE’s 2020 New Year’s Day Exchange





	1. A New Year's Eve Party

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pietray](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pietray/gifts).



> Thank you for the prompts, pietray! The Sylvia Plath quote (and poem) was so good that I wouldn't be able to do it justice here, so I'm saving that for another time. I ended up working on your scenario, "Frank shoots Matt (again)." This also ended up being a holiday-themed fic because I was infected by the holidays. It happens! Hope you enjoy! :)
> 
> Title from Ingrid Michaelson's version of the song from her 2018 holiday album, _Songs for Christmas._

** Chapter Summary: **

Frank thinks he might be courting Red; Matt doesn't know what's going on.

* * *

Matt heard the heartbeat three blocks away, as steady as a homing beacon parked on the rooftop of his building. He wondered at its presence and suppressed a sigh. It was Christmas Eve, goodwill to all men and all that . . .

All men, Matt reminded himself, as he leaped across an adjoining building. In a few minutes, he’d be home. And for some reason – Matt was hoping it wasn’t to pick a fight, either physically or verbally – Frank Castle was waiting for him. When was the last time he’d seen Castle? Not since before a building in midtown Manhattan had fallen on top of him, before a psychopath had impersonated him as Daredevil, before Castle had made his own headlines coming back from the dead in New York City. 

It’d been a while.

“Figured the Devil wouldn’t take the night off, even on Christmas Eve,” Frank said, when Matt landed on his own roof. Frank was speaking normally, as though Matt were standing right in front of him and not yards away on the other side of the rooftop. 

Matt raised an eyebrow beneath the black mask. That was the most loquacious greeting Frank had ever given him. The scent of hard liquor drifted over, the vapor an echo that followed Frank’s words.

 _Ah, well. That would explain some things_ , Matt thought, a little unsettled by the idea of Frank drinking, of the thought that the Punisher might be _drunk_ , and waiting for _him_ , on Christmas _Eve_. He kept his body and his actions relaxed, but his senses were on high alert, reaching out and processing the myriad details that surrounded him. Frank was armed (of course). Three guns and three knives. Extra ammunition. Two grenades. 

Frank pulled out a bottle from the inside of his coat. A bottle of . . . the other man uncapped the lid . . . 

Macallan. 

Matt’s preferred poison. The question, ‘Did Frank know that?’ quickly transformed into ‘ _How_ did Frank know that?’

Matt heard Frank pouring two fingers of the Macallan into a tumbler (an actual glass tumbler). There were two tumblers beside Frank on the ledge on which he was sitting. Frank held one tumbler out to Matt, and Matt had no choice but to walk over and accept the drink. 

“Cheers,” Frank said, knocking his glass against Matt’s and downing the amber liquid in one go, as if it were a shot of tequila instead of a high-priced scotch.

Matt could see why Frank had chosen to wait for him here. The ledge and access stairway that led to his apartment provided some cover from the cold December wind. Yet, he stood motionless in front of the other man, tumbler in hand. 

When Frank noticed that Matt wasn’t drinking, he looked up. “What?” he said. “You wanted the 25?”

“Fifteen’s fine,” Matt answered, “especially since it’s sherry oak.” He took a long draught. Unlike Frank, he savored the burn. He could sense the other man smiling. He wondered if Frank would still be smiling if he knew that Matt could ‘see’ the expression. He pushed the thought aside. “What’re you doing here, Frank?” he asked, instead. 

“Can’t shoot the breeze with the Devil on Christmas Eve?”

Matt bit back a smile. Alcohol had different effects on different people. Somehow, Matt had expected Frank to be the quiet, morose drunk. He seemed the type. Frank was laconic on the best of days. It seemed logical that alcohol would enhance that reticence. Instead, it did the opposite. This time, a grin tugged at the corners of Matt’s lips at the thought of Frank as a chatty, happy drunk. Well, ‘chatty’ by Frank’s standards.

The other man was looking at him expectantly, waiting for a reply. 

“Nope,” Matt said, matter-of-factly. “Shooting the breeze with the Devi isn’t something the Punisher would do.” He held up his glass. “Now, _bribing_ the Devil . . .” he trailed off. 

“Is it working?” 

Matt shrugged. “Dunno,” he said. “You haven’t asked me for anything yet.” 

“Scotch’s supposed to soften you up first,” Frank retorted. He paused. Matt could feel Frank giving him the once-over. “How the hell ain’t you freezin’ in that get-up?” 

Matt took another sip before he replied. “Lots and lots of thermal underwear,” he deadpanned.

Frank snorted, pouring himself another two fingers. “Thought we were gonna have a white Christmas,” he continued in that same chatty manner that was silently flabbergasting Matt. “Forecasters sure as hell got that wrong. Your voodoo senses tell ya when we’re gonna get snow?” 

Matt gave up trying to figure out what was happening and took a seat beside Frank on the cold ledge, the bottle of Macallan between them. 

“January,” he said. 

“New Year’s?” Frank offered, and damn he sounded hopeful.

“Probably a little later,” Matt said, feeling inexplicably bad for disappointing Frank. “Does the snow mean so much to you?” he asked, after a pause. 

Frank shrugged. “The holidays don’t seem right without it,” he said, and left it at that. Matt didn’t push.

Even without snow, it was cold up on the roof. Frank couldn’t have been out there long, otherwise he would’ve turned into an icicle, protection from wind chill or not. Matt stood up abruptly. He still had no idea what Frank was doing here, but he needed to change and get ready. He’d ended his patrol early so he’d have enough time to prepare for midnight mass. He hesitated before saying, “You want to come in?” 

The question seemed to jolt Frank out of his stupor. “No,” he said quickly. He stood up as well. “Came by to ask if you were busy on New Year’s Eve.”

Matt couldn’t help the grin that broke out. “Is the Punisher looking for a date?” he teased.

“A special kinda date,” Frank said, a little darkly. His tone had shifted, as had his body language. This was the real reason that he’d shown up on the Devil’s rooftop. “The Owl’s hosting a big party on New Year’s Eve,” Frank explained. “Double celebration. He’s bringing in the kind of drug shipment that’ll change the criminal landscape of the city. He’s got some new partners down in Miami. Thought you and me could go in there and bust up that party. That is, if you ain’t got other plans.”

Matt remained silent. So, he wasn’t the only one who had been tracking the Owl’s movements, but Frank had obviously put more work into it than he had. Since Fisk had been put behind bars again, a vacuum had opened in the criminal underworld. The Owl was looking to step in and fill that void. He thought he could fill the shoes of the Kingpin. Matt didn’t know whether that made him delusional or just foolish. Whatever the Owl was, consolidating the drug trade through new suppliers would go a long way to claiming the Kingpin’s throne.

He nodded, slowly. “All right,” he agreed. He took a step toward Frank, his own body language firm but not yet aggressive. “One condition,” he stated. 

“Here it comes,” Frank muttered. 

“No killing.” 

“Still a goddamned Boy Scout.”

“I mean it, Frank,” Matt said, his voice taking on a harder edge. “You came to me tonight,” he reminded the other man. “That means you know that the operation’s too big to handle on your own. You _need_ my help. If we’re gonna do this together, then we’re gonna do it on my terms. That means no killing.”

It was Frank’s turn to take a step toward Matt, bridging what little distance was left between them. This close, Matt’s senses were enveloped by the other man’s nearness. He could smell the old gunpowder residue that clung to Frank’s Kevlar, the acrylic of the paint that was used to make that ridiculous skull logo, the worn leather of his long coat, the cheap liquor that now mixed with the rich tones of the Macallan on his breath. And underneath all that was Frank’s heartbeat, steady and sure, as it always was.

“Two conditions,” Frank said in return. “No killing and . . .” 

Matt waited as Frank purposely drew out the second condition. “ _And_?” he eventually said, a little testily. 

“You wear the red suit.”

Matt was about to protest, but Frank cut him off. “No buts,” he barked. “You know how heavily armed Owl’s goons are. For a shipment this big, there’s gonna be double the security and no fucking around. You’re gonna need more than thermal underwear for protection.”

Matt’s protest died on his lips. Every now and then, Frank made a lot of sense. To his chagrin, this was one of those times. He exhaled, hearing the irritation in the sound. 

“’Sides,” Frank was saying, a smile back in his voice. “It’s the holidays, Red. You can at least look the part.” 

“I’m the Devil, not Santa Claus,” Matt stated flatly.

“But ya both wear the same color,” Frank pointed out with too much good humor. He turned away suddenly, abruptly drawing their conversation to a close. Matt felt off-kilter as Frank began to walk away, gloved hands buried in the pockets of his long coat.

“What about the details for New Year’s Eve?” Matt called after him. 

“I’ll contact you,” Frank replied. 

Matt remembered the two tumblers and the bottle of Macallan on the ledge. “Aren’t you forgetting something?” he asked. 

“The tumblers are yours,” Frank said, basically admitting that he’d broken into Matt’s apartment to get the glasses. 

“I suppose the Macallan’s mine too?” 

“Nah, that’s a gift. Merry Christmas, Red.”

* * *

Matt picked up the tumblers and the Macallan and headed inside. He hit the voice activation button on his clock, heard the voice chime out “11:18pm,” and ducked into the shower. He made it to midnight mass with five minutes to spare.

He spent Christmas Day with Foggy and his family. Karen was there, too, of course. The Nelsons had adopted Matt years ago, but since their newly reconstituted firm had moved into the space above the butcher’s shop, the Nelsons had adopted Karen as well. Throughout the day, Frank would cross his mind every now and then. He vaguely wondered how the Punisher was spending Christmas. He almost asked Karen about it. Matt wasn’t sure what was going on between them, but he knew that something was. They were close. Was it the same kind of closeness that he had once shared with Karen? Matt didn’t want to think about that. Those thoughts and feelings were too confusing to unpack on the best of days. He wasn’t going to ruin his Christmas by dwelling on the _Punisher_.

The Punisher wasn’t being easy on him, however. When Frank said that he’d be in contact, he hadn’t specified _how_. Matt soon figured that part out. Frank began leaving packages on the roof for him, neatly and securely wrapped. They were also water-proofed, in case it rained before Matt was able to pick them up.

The packages contained Frank’s reconnaissance, all the details that he’d learned about the Owl’s operation, which Matt was able to corroborate through his own research and experience. The information stunned Matt in two ways. Not by the level of detail in Frank’s work – that was to be expected from a professional like Frank – but the mere fact that Frank had so willingly shared his information with Matt. No prompting, no requests, no beating the answers out of him. This was true collaboration. The second, possibly more shocking detail about Frank’s reconnaissance was in its presentation. Most of the information was encoded in Braille, and whatever wasn’t encoded in Braille had been transferred into an easily digestible audio format. Matt was blown away by Frank’s thoughtfulness, not to mention the time it must have taken to transcribe the information into Braille or into audio. Did that mean that Frank had access to a Braille printer? Did he pay for the transcription? And who on earth could you trust to transcribe information about the _Owl’s criminal activity_? That was the kind of thing that people got killed over.

Matt tried not to think about those details either. He focused on the reconnaissance itself, not on the hows and whys. Frank was behaving a little strangely. Maybe the guy was going through some things (wasn’t he _always_ going through some things, not that Matt was much better in that department) and the holiday season was compounding it. The last time they spoke, Frank had been grumbling about _snow_.

Instead, Matt did some reconnaissance of his own. It wasn’t enough to verify Frank’s information through research. He wanted to get his own sense of the layout of where the shipment was coming in, the sort of people the Owl had hired, the type of security onsite. His senses could pick up details that Frank may have missed. He visited the Owl’s headquarters twice, the site of the drop-off three times. He listened to the conversations among the Owl’s men. He also kept an ear out for a distinctive heartbeat, but he only encountered it once at the warehouse where the drugs would be dropped off.

A strange tension had filled the air when Matt heard that heartbeat somewhere behind and above him. He knew with certainty that Frank was on-site, just as Frank must have known that he was there too. There had been no direct communication between them since Frank had turned up on his roof with a bottle of Macallan and a question about New Year’s Eve. Since then the communication had flowed one way, from Frank to Matt. And yet, Matt could sense a shift happening between them. It wasn’t just the recon. It was the idea that Frank – the lone wolf – had _wanted_ to team-up with him, had chosen him specifically for this job when he probably had other options. And Matt, to his own surprise, had agreed with minimal fuss. They were going into this as partners, as strange and alien (and possibly as thrilling and exciting) as the idea was to Matt.

Matt waited, maintaining his position, wondering if Frank would approach (wondering if he should be the one to acknowledge the other man first). Time stretched out, but it was barely a handful of minutes. Frank’s footsteps faded in the opposite direction, his steady heartbeat fading with them. Matt exhaled, unsure of what to make of his vague feeling of disappointment.

* * *

New Year’s Eve came soon enough and Matt was at the appointed place fifteen minutes early. He’d left the planning to Frank since he felt like this was Frank’s mission and he’d been asked along as back up, even if he’d painted it as an equal partnership to Frank. He came to the realization as he was preparing for this mission that team ups were generally _not_ his idea. They weren’t his forte. The few team ups that he’d participated in had been instigated by others, by people equally skilled as himself and whom he’d trusted, people like Stick and Elektra. It was disconcerting to think that Frank fell into that category now. (Did he?) While the one team up he’d reluctantly lead hadn’t been a total disaster, having a building fall on you and failing to save the love of your life wasn’t exactly a rousing success either. Maybe Matt wasn’t made for team ups, but he was giving it one more shot with the unlikeliest of partners at the unlikeliest of times. 

Goodwill to all men, indeed.

Frank joined him on time. “Any changes?” he asked, by way of greeting. He was carrying three, heavy, black duffel bags. 

“All quiet,” Matt answered. “As quiet as can be for New Year’s Eve,” he added.

It was true. New York City was alive with celebration. The air felt charged. Even in the relatively abandoned warehouse where the shipment was being delivered, there were still a handful of partygoers on the streets, headed to wherever they were going. 

“If everything’s on schedule, we got an hour until the shipment arrives,” Frank said brusquely. He was all business now. 

Matt listened attentively as Frank ran through the plan that he’d devised. Matt was already familiar with it through Frank’s notes, but it was a little different hearing it from the man himself. 

“All good?” Frank said, when he was done. 

“All good,” Matt confirmed. He was about to turn away when Frank suddenly gripped his arm. 

“You’re wearing the suit,” Frank stated. 

“That was part of the deal,” Matt reminded him. “No killing,” he added, after a moment. Frank grinned in response, releasing Matt’s arm at the same time.

The truth was, it felt good to be wearing the suit again. And it wasn’t just because Melvin Potter had made more than one suit for him. Matt actually had two suits to choose from, depending upon the season. Potter was _that_ considerate. The winter suit had two extra layers of insulation while providing all the customary protection and mobility. He remembered telling a dismayed Foggy why he’d abandoned the red suit. The easy answer was that Poindexter had corrupted its meaning, that Matt had to rebuild the trust that had been lost. But the truth was, it had been more than that. Matt hadn’t felt like he was worthy of the suit anymore, that he had failed the city and the people whom he’d loved. Could he still claim to be Daredevil after all that had happened with The Hand, after his repeated failures? Was he really the Man Without Fear?

He’d had to learn how to be Daredevil again and what that meant. He’d had to go through the re-training and the practice. He’d started small, building up his confidence and his skills, re-learning his limits and then pushing beyond them, until he knew he could protect his city from people like the Owl and the Russians, and the Algerians, and the Kitchen Irish. It had taken months and months, but now, standing on a rooftop overlooking the warehouse where the Owl thought he could remake the criminal landscape, Matt could truly say that he was Daredevil again. And he was wearing the red suit to prove it.

* * *

“Damn stupid place to put that.” 

Matt paused, his senses assessing the area, trying to catch what Frank had noticed. “What?” he finally said, turning around. He had his hand on the doorknob and he was about head downstairs. 

Meanwhile, Frank was going to set up the heavy artillery on the roof: automatic weapons placed on a timer to create the distraction that they’d need to enter the warehouse vicinity. While Owl’s guards were occupied by the gunfire, Matt would disable the security system. He could bypass security more easily than Frank could, but he’d have to be on the ground to do that.

“What?” he said again, when Frank didn’t respond. The other man had approached him, practically crowding him in the space in front of the narrow doorway. His sudden nearness made Matt a little antsy. 

Frank pointed up. 

Mistletoe. 

Matt hadn’t missed the sprig hanging there (Frank was right. It was an unusual place to hang mistletoe. Who was trying to catch someone up on the roof?), but he hadn’t given it a second thought either.

Matt soon realized that perhaps he should’ve given the mistletoe a second thought when Frank grabbed the doorknob that he was holding and yanked the door shut. A second later, Matt found himself uncomprehendingly pressed against said door with the Punisher kissing him. The kiss didn’t last very long because Matt’s self-preservation instincts kicked in and he was shoving the other man away from him, striking him in the chest with a hit so hard that a bruise would’ve formed if Frank hadn’t been wearing his Kevlar. 

“What the hell, Frank?” Matt said, trying to catch his breath.

Frank was impassive, standing in front of Matt as calmly as ever, as though the kiss hadn’t just happened, as though Matt hadn’t just tried to break his ribs in response. 

“What was that?” Matt ground out, flustered by the other man’s actions, confused by the kiss and the strange warring emotions that had suddenly come to the surface. 

“Tradition, Red,” Frank said plainly. “See you on the ground.”

Before Matt could say anything else, Frank had turned away. Matt honed in on Frank’s retreating form, trying to read the other man as best as he could, looking for a clue to explain what had just happened. Nothing, but the steady drumbeat of Frank’s heart, the certainty of his footsteps, the evenness of his breathing. If that kiss had meant anything to him, Frank wasn’t giving it away. (But it had to mean something, right? Otherwise, why do it?) 

Matt wasn’t about to give anything away either, especially since he didn’t know what anything _meant_. There was a plan. A mission. An objective. That was what he needed to focus on. He’d deal with Frank’s BS when the job was done.

* * *

Even with the best planning, things could still go wrong. Matt was fully aware of that as he dived behind several large packing crates, bullets pelting the wall behind him. Most of the Owl’s men had already been disabled. Owl himself – the coward – had made a beeline for the exit, surrounded by his most loyal henchmen, as soon as Matt and Frank crashed the party. 

Frank had been the one to make the grand entrance, although technically Matt had been onsite first disabling security. Outside the warehouse, the Owl’s men had been pinned down by the rapid weapons fire. By the time they figured out that none of them were being directly targeted, it was too late. Matt had already disabled the system and Frank had simply strode in through the front, picking off the Owl’s men one at a time. (True to his word, he was aiming for kneecaps and shoulders, disabling the goons instead of gunning them down.) Matt came from the opposite direction, breaking bones and leaving unconscious men in his wake. Those who saw him coming recognized the suit. There were shouts of “Daredevil! Daredevil!” that soon mixed with the panicked cries of “The Punisher!” 

The warehouse had devolved into chaos, but it was an ordered chaos controlled by Frank and himself. Matt drove the rest of the Owl’s men forward, but that only served them up to the Punisher. Unfortunately, Frank had been occupied when three stragglers had managed to pin Matt down behind the packing crates. 

Matt waited, crouched, as the gunfire stopped. He tracked the three men approaching his position, their firearms still raised. They were waiting for Matt to slip up, so they’d have a target to aim it. Two men broke right, the third broke left. They meant to flank him. Matt wasn’t about to let that happen. He moved toward the single man, keeping low as he rushed around the corner of the large crate. He kicked the goon’s legs out from under him, grabbing hold of the automatic rifle just as the man fired so that the bullets deflected away from them. On the other side, he sensed the two men coming around their corner. He would have just enough time to knock out the man in front of him before dealing with the two others. He struck the man on the floor twice with the butt of his own rifle. He heard the crunch of fine bones breaking in the goon’s nose, and the blocked passageway as it filled with blood. The man was out cold, but he wasn’t about to suffocate on his own blood.

Matt, however, had underestimated the speed of the man’s companions. He leaped onto the crates as more gunfire erupted and then flattened himself against the crate’s surface. 

“He’s up there!” one of the men shouted. 

“I can’t see ‘im, dammit!” the other one cried. 

Matt grinned, tasting the blood on his lower lip. Idiots. He crouched, ready to drop between the two men. 

It was a case of bad timing. Matt had lost track of Frank during his own fight and didn’t realize that Frank had come to help him. He understood his mistake as soon as he made it, the sudden shots that rang out as he leaped. He felt a bullet puncture his calf (at least, Frank was still aiming low) as he landed and then pitched his body into a roll to avoid the rest of the gunfire. The two men were now on the ground, gripping their bleeding knee caps as Frank kicked their weapons away from them. Then Frank was the one knocking the two men out, as Matt gingerly stood up.

“Dammit, Red,” Frank griped, his annoyance sharp and palpable to Matt. 

“You didn’t give me any warning,” Matt fired back, annoyed at his own lapse. He brushed back Frank’s arm when the other man made to reach for him. “I’m fine,” he said testily. “It was a clean shot. Bullet went in and out.” 

“You still need to bandage that,” Frank pointed out, gruffly. 

“Later,” Matt said, cocking his head as he tracked the progress of police sirens. “We need to leave. The police are three minutes out.” 

“Pretty good response time for New Year’s,” Frank noted. 

“Where’d you park?” 

“Hang on. Somethin’ I gotta do first.”


	2. A New Year's Eve Post-Party . . . for Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Punisher and Daredevil have a heart-to-heart. Yes, it's as uncomfortable as it sounds, but also kind of cute . . . in an awkward sort of way.

Although they hadn’t discussed it specifically, Matt had assumed that he and Frank would part ways once the operation was done. But that was before Frank had accidentally shot him in the leg. They were both to blame for the incident, but neither one of them was willing to admit it or to apologize. 

That’s how Matt found himself in the back of Frank’s van with the other man’s medical supplies, as Frank drove them out of the area before the police dropped their perimeter.

“What’d you do back there?” Matt asked, stripping off his suit so he could bandage his wound. He’d tried rolling up the leg of his suit to get to the bullet wound, but it proved to be too difficult. The chill of Frank’s van covered his skin as he stripped, the heater struggling to do its job. 

“Hmm?” Frank said, from the driver’s seat.

The interior of the van was dark. Matt obviously didn’t need any light to be able to do his work. Still, he wondered how well Frank could see through the darkness of the rearview mirror of the van. Matt’s skin prickled and it wasn’t just from the cold. He could feel Frank watching him.

“I said,” Matt repeated, more loudly this time and enunciating his words crisply. “What did you do back there?” 

“Left the cops a present,” Frank said off-handedly. 

“Care to be more specific?” 

“A sign wishing them ‘Happy Holidays.’” 

“And?” 

“And . . . maybe I signed it with my logo and yours.” 

“I . . . I don’t have a logo,” Matt said, momentarily at a loss for words. Internally, he was screaming, “WHAT?!!”

Frank scoffed. “The double D is your logo,” he said matter-of-factly. “Ain’t that what yer snitches call ya? Double-D? I’ve heard it on the streets. Even signed it in red to make sure the cops got the message. Your pal, Mahoney, will figure it out.” 

“So, you thought you’d just put my logo up there with yours?” Matt said, his voice rising as the implications of Frank’s actions finally began to sink in. “Like we’re _partners_? We’re not partners, Frank.” 

“No, Red,” Frank said. 

Unless Matt was mistaken, he thought he detected an undercurrent of weariness in the other man’s voice, but that couldn’t be right.

“We’re not partners, but I couldn’t take the credit for the bust. Wouldn’t be right.” 

“Credit?” Matt repeated, a little incredulously. “You _never_ take credit. That’s your MO. You just leave bodies riddled with bullet holes behind you.” 

“What? As opposed to the Christian imagery bullshit you like to pull?”

Matt could feel his temper flaring again, but Frank’s voice suddenly softened, attempting to diffuse the situation. Some part of Matt’s brain was trying to register that Frank Castle was being non-combative. To _him_. 

“Don’t get yer panties in a twist, Red. The sign was a joke, just some holiday cheer. Some of the cops’ll hate it. A reminder that vigilantes are doin’ the work they can’t or they won’t. Other cops’ll love it, and they’ll sleep a bit easier tonight. It is what it is.”

“It was more than that, Frank,” Matt said quietly. “And you know it.” 

The van had come to a halt. Frank turned around in his seat, facing the darkness that shrouded Matt. “It is,” he agreed. “That sign tells the cops that we can work together when we have to. It don’t mean we’re partners,” he added. “But it means that when shit’s big enough – like the Owl tryin’ ta take control of the whole drug trade in the city – we can put our differences aside to get the job done. It also means –” 

Frank hesitated. Matt heard the skip in the other man’s heartbeat and wondered if Frank would continue. 

“It also means,” Frank started again, “that I got your back, Red. Even if you don’t got mine. Even if I want ta shoot you half the time.”

Matt chuckled, momentarily stunned again by Frank’s admission, but somehow still keeping his wits about him. “You actually did shoot me tonight, Frank.” 

“I meant _on purpose_.”

Matt could feel himself grinning in the darkness, an unfamiliar pleasant warmth settling in his chest at Frank’s words. For a man as reticent and guarded as Frank Castle, those were mighty big declarations. Matt didn’t have to be a human lie detector to hear the sincerity in Frank’s voice. He wondered how much it had cost Frank to admit those things to him; he wondered how much he could reciprocate. 

The silence stretched out between them, but it was contemplative and filled with possibility. Eventually, Matt broke it. 

“Where are we, anyway?” 

“In the alleyway next to your building.” 

_Oh_.

Somehow, Matt hadn’t expected Frank to drive him home. And if Frank hadn’t distracted him so much, he would’ve recognized the familiar voices and sounds of his own street. 

“You might as well go in through the front door,” Frank was saying. “Or the back door. No point in climbing up the fire escape with a bullet hole in your leg.” 

“Good idea, except I’d rather not enter the building dressed as Daredevil.” 

“Here.” Frank tossed a small duffel in Matt’s direction. “Clean clothes,” he added.

Matt didn’t have to be told that. He’d already recognized the non-fragranced detergent that Frank used from the partially unzipped bag. He pulled out a long-sleeved tee, a warm pullover and a pair of jeans. The jeans would be a size too big for him, but neither were they going to fall off his hips before he got to his apartment. 

“Thanks,” Matt said, a little awkwardly.

Frank faced the front of the van again, giving Matt a semblance of privacy as he changed. It didn’t seem to matter that he’d been essentially sitting in his underwear with only one leg clad in the suit the entire time they’d been talking. When Matt was done changing, he bundled the red suit and his billy clubs into the duffel. He was about to move to the back and open the van’s double doors, but he hesitated. Something didn’t feel right. He and Frank had done good work tonight, brought in the New Year with a different kind of bang from what the Owl had been planning. And then Frank had made a confession of sorts. And there had been that bizarre kiss under the mistletoe. Not to mention the bottle of Macallan from the previous week. Plus, all the paperwork and packages that Frank had left for him in their neat Braille print and clear audio. What was Matt supposed to make of all that? 

He cleared his throat.

“Do you want to come upstairs?” he offered. “We could toast in the New Year.” 

There was a beat before Frank answered. 

“Still have the Macallan?” 

“Still have the Macallan.”

* * *

The clock hadn’t yet struck midnight when Matt put the key into his front door. He was aware of Frank’s presence, even though the other man was about a foot away, casually leaning against the wall as he waited for Matt to let them in. Outside the noise was growing more incessant; the parties in the surrounding apartments and buildings were building to a cacophony in Matt’s head. The key jammed in the lock and Matt winced.

“Probably should’ve driven you out of the city,” Frank noted, stepping forward and gently prying Matt’s hand away from the key. “It’d be quieter.” 

Matt didn’t flinch at the other man’s unexpected touch. “It’d be hard to find some place quiet during New Year’s,” he said, stepping aside so that Frank could unlock his door. He wondered how well Frank understood how his senses worked. They’d never talked about it. Maybe Karen had told him.

Frank unlocked the door, allowing Matt to enter the apartment first. Despite the sensory overload, Matt still had the presence of mind to switch on the hall light for Frank. He didn’t bother with the other lights in the apartment, aware that the billboard outside his windows must’ve been casting its usual garish hues. He turned on the heat before heading straight for the sofa and practically throwing himself into it. He was starting to regret inviting Frank upstairs. He could tell that he was going to be a lousy host. 

Frank followed Matt inside, eventually standing over him at the sofa and eyeing Matt critically, while Matt did his best to meditate in an effort to get the sensory overload under control. Somehow, it hadn’t been so bad while he’d been in the van. That’s probably because he’d been focused on other things.

“Would aspirin help?” Frank eventually asked. 

“Unfortunately, no,” Matt said, remembering he had company and sitting up straighter. 

“What would?” 

“A drink?” Matt gestured vaguely behind him. “Macallan’s in the right-hand cupboard above the sink. You know where to find the glasses,” he added, with a smirk.

Frank took the jab in stride. Matt tracked the other man as Frank removed his coat, draping it over one of the chairs at the dining table. Then Frank went into the kitchen, moving with an ease that spoke of familiarity, though Matt knew for a fact that Frank had only broken into his apartment that one time on Christmas Eve. 

In a matter of minutes, Frank was seated on the couch beside him, passing Matt a tumbler of Macallan, the bottle on the coffee table in front of them.

Frank held up his glass. “To breaking the Owl’s hold on the drug trade,” he said. 

“And a Happy New Year,” Matt threw in. 

“I’ll drink to that,” Frank agreed, clinking his glass against Matt’s. He savored the scotch this time.

They sat together quietly, nursing their drinks. Matt was hyper-aware of Frank’s proximity. The other man was sitting close to him, probably too close. Even though they weren’t touching, Matt could feel the heat from Frank’s leg almost like a burn along his thigh. The noise in his head had reached a crescendo. The honking, the horns, the shouts, the cheers. Over in Times Square, the New Year’s ball was dropping. Matt could hear clocks chiming midnight in the buildings around him, but in his own living room there was only stillness and the evenness of Frank’s breathing and the steadiness of his heart. 

“What’d you tell Nelson and Karen about tonight?” Frank asked quietly, as the clocks continued to chime. 

“That the Devil doesn’t take the night off,” Matt answered. 

“Thought you’d be on your way to midnight mass,” Frank said, a little ruefully. 

“I went to the anticipated mass at 8:30pm,” Matt explained, taking another sip. The Macallan was _good_. 

“You went to church before going to break the law? That’s messed up.” 

Matt shrugged. “You could also call it doing God’s work,” he suggested. 

“By breaking the law?” 

“By serving justice.”

Matt could tell that Frank wanted to say more, so he cut the other man off. 

“Frank, we helped the police confiscate around 5 million dollars’ worth of drugs tonight . . . on New Year’s Eve. Let’s not fight about it.” 

“Whatever you say, counselor.” 

They continued to drink. The noise outside was still going strong. Matt was thankful that fireworks had been deemed illegal by the city government. Tonight could’ve been a lot worse for him.

“Did you really leave a sign?” he asked, his thoughts circling back to their strange partnership. The thought of Frank advertising that partnership had simply never occurred to him. It wasn’t Frank Castle’s _style_. 

Frank’s good humor was back. He bumped Matt’s knee with his own. “You’ll hear about it on the news soon enough.” 

Matt sighed. 

Frank chuckled again. “Still sore about the partners thing?” 

Matt shrugged, taking another sip. “I’m getting over it,” he admitted. The Macallan was mellowing him out. “You can explain to Karen what that’s about.”

Frank chuckled again, louder this time. “Yeah, no. You’ll be seeing Karen before I will.” 

“What? She doesn’t call you to check up?” At Frank’s telling silence, Matt grinned. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Own up to it, Frank. This whole ‘partners’ thing has been your idea from the start.”

Matt felt Frank’s sniper gaze focused on him, Frank’s knee casually resting against his, except there didn’t seem to be anything casual about the action. All of Frank’s actions were deliberate. Matt probably should’ve felt uncomfortable under that scrutiny, but he didn’t. The air was charged again, the little space between them crackling like electricity to Matt’s heightened senses. 

“You could’ve said ‘no,’” Frank told him quietly. Intensely. 

“Could I have?” Matt questioned. 

He wasn’t being rhetorical. He was genuinely wondering if he could’ve turned Frank’s offer down, if he’d understood what Frank was really offering.

“There’s a lot of things I don’t understand about that night,” he admitted. “A couple more things I don’t understand about tonight either,” he went on, his thoughts briefly flitting to that surprising kiss. “But one thing you said rings true. Some things _are_ too big for us to handle on our own. Mishaps aside, tonight proved that we can put away our differences to work together, to work towards some greater good. And just so you know?” Matt hesitated, wondering if he could make the same confession. “I got your back too, even if I didn’t really know it until tonight.”

Frank’s right arm was resting along the back of the sofa, his hand near enough that he could’ve drawn Matt in for a kiss. The tension was palpable. _That’s what it was_ , Matt realized with some surprise. The moment was building to another kiss. Not a contrived kiss under the mistletoe, but a _real_ kiss. 

“There’s no mistletoe here,” Matt said suddenly.

Frank leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his tumbler in his hand. The moment passed. Rather than sensing disappointment, Matt sensed the other man’s amusement. 

“I s’ppose I’d get a lot more than broken ribs if I tried that again, huh?” 

Matt shook his head slowly. “I don’t think so,” he said, just as slowly. “I’m just . . . confused. I don’t understand what’s changed. Or _when_. It wasn’t that long ago when you were trying to kill me.”

“I was never tryin’ to kill ya, Red,” Frank countered. He sounded hurt. “Not really.” 

“You shot me in the head.” 

Frank sat up a little straighter. “Okay,” he said. “That shot was intentional, but I definitely wasn’t tryin’ to kill you.” 

“Because you knew my headgear could take it?” 

“Because I knew your headgear could take it.” 

At Matt’s dubious expression, Frank persevered. 

“C’mon, Red. That shot was precise. You gotta know it wasn’t a kill shot.”

Actually, Matt did know this. Potter’s examination of his helmet had confirmed it. But he and Frank had never really talked about that first encounter until now, and he enjoyed making the other man squirm. Perhaps Matt was enjoying it a little too much because when Frank suddenly made his move, Matt was completely unprepared.

It would’ve been easy for that first move to turn into a tussle, into a _real_ fight. But that’s not what happened. What happened instead was Matt landed on his back with Frank on top of him, one of Frank’s knees brushing against his groin, and Frank’s mouth hot against his. Matt could’ve fought that kiss, but found that he didn’t want to. Rather, he encouraged it, his hands finding the hem of Frank’s shirt and dipping underneath to touch bare skin. (Thankfully, Frank had left the Kevlar back in the van.) Matt smiled into Frank’s kiss. No thermal underwear for the Punisher.

What began as heated touches and heated kisses slowed into something more languorous and sensual. It gave Matt time to come to terms with the fact that he was making out with Frank Castle on his sofa as New Year’s Eve had become New Year’s Day. This was _not_ how he’d expected to greet the new year. 

“This,” he said, tapping Frank on the chest when there was a break in their make out session. “This is the part that confuses me.”

“You don’t seem very confused,” Frank offered, tracing Matt’s bottom lip with his thumb. 

They were both laying on their sides now, facing each other. It was a tight squeeze for two grown men, but Matt felt comfortable, his back pressed into the sofa, Frank’s body a sturdy, warm weight in front of him, their legs tangled together.

“Oh, I _am_ confused,” Matt assured the other man. “I don’t understand how we went from you shooting me in the head to . . .” He gestured between them. “This.” 

“You’re over-simplifying things, Red.” 

“Frank, if you can stick your tongue down my throat, do you think you could call me by my name?” 

“Murdock?” 

“How about ‘Matt’?” 

“I can work on it.” 

Matt chuckled. Compromises with the Punisher. It was a start. “So,” he went on. “When did this change for you?”

To Frank’s credit, he didn’t play dumb although Matt’s question was a little vague. He exhaled, shifting so that he was lying on his back more fully. Matt propped his head in his hand, not to look down at the other man but to give Frank more room. He waited. 

“I don’t think anything really changed,” Frank finally said. “I think this was always there, just . . . buried. When I finally realized it was there, I just had to decide if I was gonna do anything about it.” 

“Very practical,” Matt approved. 

Frank turned his head to look at Matt. “How about you?” 

“Me?” Matt said, thinking. “It’s been a lot more recent for me.”

“How recent?” 

“Like . . . tonight?” Matt laughed, placing his free hand on Frank’s chest, where it was quickly grasped by the other man’s hand. “But I’ve been thinking about you a lot since your Christmas Eve visit,” he admitted. “The Braille notes. The audio dictation. The _Macallan_.” He paused. “Very smooth, Frank.” 

Frank’s grin was smug. “I try,” he said. “So, does this mean I get to stay over?”

Matt laughed again. “You’re aggressive,” he noted. He sat up properly, leaning back against the sofa while Frank lounged more comfortably in the space Matt had just vacated. 

Frank shrugged. “I know what I want,” he stated. “That a ‘no’ then?” 

Matt shook his head, smiling. “ _No_ ,” he said. “But I have two conditions.” 

“Let’s hear ‘em.” 

“First, you have to shower. I’ll never get the smell of blood and gunpowder out of the sheets.” 

“And two?” 

“Two, we’re just going to sleep. It may not be sexy, but I’m too tired to do anything else.” 

“Sleeping _is_ sexy,” Frank countered. “’Sides, there’s plenty of time for the other stuff.”

* * *

Matt may have wanted to just sleep, but he wasn’t opposed to showering together or the subsequent fooling around that came with it. He used unscented soaps and the mildest of shampoos and conditioners, a detail Frank noticed when Matt poured a dollop into his palm. 

“Baby shampoo?” he questioned. 

“It doesn’t irritate my senses,” Matt explained. “You’d be surprised how abrasive the expensive stuff is.” 

Matt sensed Frank nodding behind him. “Scrub my back?” he asked. 

Frank acquiesced, reaching for the unscented soap. “You gonna tell me how your senses work?”

Matt considered this. He’d been anticipating the question, knowing that Frank would inevitably ask. He should’ve known what to say by now. He’d had to explain his senses to an angry Foggy, a disbelieving Karen, and a traumatized Claire. (Technically, Stick and Elektra didn’t count.) Somehow, the ‘world on fire’ explanation didn’t seem enough for Frank.

“It’s like a radar sense,” he began. “A three-hundred-and-sixty-degree radar sense. There’s no front or back for me. Even if an attacker approached from behind, they might as well be facing me.” 

Frank stopped his actions, the bar of soap resting on Matt’s right shoulder blade. “You can sense everything I’m doing right now,” he ventured. 

“Yes.”

“But how? How does the radar sense work?”

“When I was blinded as a kid, my remaining senses became heightened to an extreme degree. They work together to form that three-hundred-and-sixty-degree map in my mind. But my hearing is the sharpest sense of all. I can map almost anything through sound.” 

“Echolocation?” Frank offered. He’d resumed scrubbing Matt’s back. “Like what bats and dolphins use?”

“Yes and no,” Matt confirmed. “It’s more than just sound. It’s changes in temperature and movement and taste. I can tell how badly you’re bleeding by how much iron is in the air. I know if your ribs are broken by how the bones shift. I can tell if someone is lying to me by a skip in a heartbeat.” 

Frank was nodding behind him. “That’s a helluva gift.” 

“When I was a kid, I thought it was a curse,” Matt admitted. “I couldn’t control it back then. I could barely leave my room at the orphanage. The world overwhelmed me.” 

“What happened?”

“I met a man who taught me how to harness my senses, how to use them and control them. He trained me.” 

Matt turned around, slipping his arms around Frank’s waist. Frank accepted the invitation, mirroring the action and stepping into Matt’s space so that their bodies were flushed together under the warm spray. 

“But that’s a story for another time.” 

Matt knew the other man agreed when Frank leaned in and kissed him.


	3. What Are You Doing New Year's Day?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frank brings Matt to the Liebermans for lunch. It goes well . . . really.

Matt woke up late. He didn’t feel bad about that. It was New Year’s Day. He was entitled. That is, until he remembered that he had a guest. Said guest was not in bed with him. Matt turned over onto his back, his senses focusing. 

The first thing that he registered was the lightly falling snow. The snow landing on the pavement or against the building walls were like tiny shattering crystals to Matt’s hearing. He felt the drop in temperature, heard the ice forming on his windows. It made him smile. It looked like Frank got his precious snow, just in time for New Year’s Day.

Speaking of Matt's guest, Frank was in the kitchen, moving with the same familiarity and ease that he’d exhibited the night before. He was also cooking food that Matt knew for a fact didn’t come from his cupboards or refrigerator. Frank must’ve gone to the grocer’s down the street. He knew that place would be open, even on New Year’s. He smelled the frying breakfast sausages, and the sunny-side up eggs, and the stack of buttermilk pancakes that were already waiting on the dining table. But it was the aroma of freshly brewed coffee that finally got Matt to drag himself out of bed.

* * *

“Morning,” Frank said, when Matt came out of the bathroom and headed straight for the coffeemaker and the waiting mug. 

“Morning,” Matt replied. “How late is it?” he asked, pouring himself a mugful of coffee. He took a deep breath and savored the aroma before drinking. These were the last of his Vietnamese beans. 

There was a pause as Frank checked the time. “Not too late. A little after 9:00am,” he answered. 

Matt nodded, leaning against the kitchen counter with his mug in hand. He wasn’t the least bit surprised when Frank ambled over and dropped a kiss on his cheek. They’d become so domestic, so quickly. Who would’ve guessed?

“It looks like you got your snow,” Matt said, thoughtfully.

“Just in time for New Year’s.” Frank sounded so pleased that Matt smiled into his coffee mug. “Your forecasting skills could use a little sharpening.”

“I said January,” Matt reminded him. “Forecasting isn’t an exact science.”

Frank grinned. "I'll give you a pass," he agreed. “You got any plans today?” he asked, while transferring the sausages onto their plates and heading to the dining table. Matt joined him. 

“This is a full spread,” Matt noted, when Frank placed his plate in front of him. “Are you always going to spoil me?” 

“Nah, this is the honeymoon period,” Frank said, taking his seat. “Don’t get used to it.” 

Matt chuckled, cutting into a sausage. “You remember I can tell when you’re lying, right?” 

“Plans?” Frank asked again, neatly evading the subject. He was pushing the sausages around his plate, evidently waiting for an answer.

“Is there another drug shipment you want us to break up? Maybe an arms deal?” 

“I’d prefer that,” Frank said honestly. He sounded resigned. That reaction piqued Matt’s interest. “I got roped into a New Year’s Day lunch . . . thing.” 

“A lunch . . . thing?” Matt repeated, reigning in his smirk. 

“Yeah, a lunch thing,” Frank said, mildly exasperated. “Thought maybe you’d like to go with me.” 

“You mean, suffer with you.” 

“Okay, suffer with me.” 

“Because misery loves company? 

“So they say.” Frank helped himself to some pancakes. “How about it?”

“If I went with you to your lunch thing,” Matt said, drawing the torture out. “Would I be your date?” 

“What else would you be?” 

“Former enemy? New friend? Vigilante partner? Take your pick.” 

“You always goin’ to make things this difficult, Red?” 

Matt grinned. “You bet.” He placed two pancakes on his plate and Frank automatically passed him the syrup. “So,” he began. “Who’re we having lunch with?”

* * *

“The Liebermans,” Frank explained, extending his right arm for Matt to take.

Matt slipped his left hand into the crook of Frank’s elbow, his cane held securely in his right. It was time to maintain appearances. “How’d you get roped into this lunch anyway?” he asked, as they walked up the Lieberman’s driveway. 

“I bailed on the Christmas lunch,” Frank admitted. “Couldn’t flake twice.” 

“Do they know I’m coming?” 

“Nope.” 

“Are you really going to introduce me as your plus one?” 

“I could always introduce you as my lawyer.” 

Matt stifled a laugh as the front door opened.

“Frank!” came the excited cry. It was from a teenaged girl. 

“Hey, Leo,” was Frank’s response, even as he was being crushed by an enthusiastic hug. 

“You didn’t join us for Christmas,” Leo accused, finally releasing Frank. 

“Yeah, sorry about that. But I’m here now.”

“Who’s your friend?” Leo stepped away from Frank and turned her attention to Matt. Matt could sense her giving him a proper appraisal. 

“This is Matthew Murdock,” Frank said, making the formal introductions. “Matt, this is Leo Lieberman.” 

Matt was pleasantly surprised that Frank had called him by his name, but he didn’t let it show. Instead, he extended his hand to Leo. “Very pleased to meet you,” he said. 

Leo gave Matt’s hand a firm shake. “Are you Frank’s boyfriend?” 

Matt’s lips quirked upwards in a half-smile. “To be decided,” he said honestly. Then he added, “I’m also Frank’s lawyer.”

“That’s good to know,” Leo told him seriously. “With all the trouble he gets into, Frank needs a lawyer. Are you any good?” 

“I can hold my own.” Matt leaned towards Frank, dropping his voice slightly as he said, “She knows you well.” 

“Get inside,” Frank grumbled.

By now, Sarah had appeared at the front door, followed by David with Zach lingering behind his parents. More introductions were made and then Matt was being ushered inside and into the living room. Frank ended up being the one to close and lock the front door, Leo keeping him company. 

“Your friend’s hot,” Leo told him, when they were alone. 

Frank felt his ears going warm, recognizing that Matt could hear their conversation. He cleared his throat. “You think so?” 

“Definitely,” Leo said with such certainty that Frank grinned. She took his hand and lead him to the living room. “Smart too, if he’s a lawyer,” she went on. “He’s probably out of your league.”

Frank bit back a laugh. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.” 

“Hey,” Leo said with a shrug, but she was smiling. “I’m just calling it like it is.” 

Frank looked over to where Zach and Sarah were occupying Matt. Since he didn’t have Matt’s super-hearing, he didn’t know what that conversation was about, but it didn’t matter. Matt had that infuriating half-smirk on his face that told Frank he’d heard every word Leo had said. 

_The little shit_.

* * *

“Hey, Frank,” David said, walking over and handing Frank a beer. He’d already given Matt his. “How about you and Matt come downstairs?” 

“Oh, no,” Sarah immediately interrupted. “You are not going down to the man cave. Lunch is almost ready.” 

“Come on, sweetie,” David cajoled. “You still need what? Twenty minutes for that roast to cook? That’s plenty of time.” 

“Then you can help me in the kitchen,” Sarah argued. “Right, Frank?” 

Frank didn’t have a chance to reply. Matt was smart enough to drink his beer and stay out of it. David was already walking over to his wife and giving her a placating kiss on the forehead that was not really placating her. 

“Zach and Leo will be happy to help,” David said. “Right, kids?” 

No response. 

“We’ll be back in twenty minutes,” David powered on, leading the way to his man cave while gesturing at Frank to follow. Frank sort of sighed and held his arm out to Matt for the other man to take.

The man cave was actually the basement of the house. Originally meant to be a rec room, David had transformed it into a personal ‘work space’ to use the term loosely. It reminded Frank a lot of David’s old industrial HQ, where they’d holed up together as wanted men trying to clear their names (or, in Frank’s case, take vengeance). The differences were that the man cave was brighter, cleaner and had even more technologically advanced equipment. 

“Is your friend some kind of voyeur?” Matt asked quietly, as they walked down the basement steps. “There are hidden cameras everywhere upstairs.” 

“Thought he’d have taken them down by now,” Frank admitted with a chuckle. Matt inclined his head towards the other man, silently asking for an explanation. 

“When Lieberman was on the lam, and his family thought he was dead,” Frank explained. “He wanted a way to keep watch over them, to make sure they were okay.” 

“Hence, the cameras,” Matt finished. 

“Any cameras down here?” Frank asked, standing with Matt at the bottom of the steps. 

Matt did a survey, his head bowed. “Clean room,” he answered. “Surveillance is upstairs and outside.” 

Frank shook his head. “Those sense of yours are really somethin’,” he said, his admiration plain.

Meanwhile, David had moved to the center of his man cave, which formed a technological hub. A bank of monitors, television screens and various computers were hooked up. On one of the television screens, the news was playing. David increased the volume. The newscaster was detailing the groundbreaking drug bust on New Year’s Eve.

“Now I know why you wanted me to gather all that information,” David was saying. “That bust you and Daredevil made last night is all over the news.” He shook his head. “Incredible. The police say it’s over five million dollars in cocaine. That’s one of the largest drug busts ever in New York City. Helluva way to bring in the new year.” 

“We thought so,” Frank agreed. 

“What is this ‘we’ stuff, Frank?” David asked, looking at Frank curiously. “Since when have you worked with Daredevil? You called that guy a sanctimonious prick who only dealt in half-measures.” 

Frank felt, rather than saw, Matt’s smirk. The other man had released his hold on Frank’s arm and had begun to explore the room, cane in hand. 

“He still is a sanctimonious prick,” Frank said, his gaze following Matt. “But he’s a highly skilled sanctimonious prick.” 

“In other words, he’s useful,” Matt translated, stopping in front of a machine on one of Lieberman’s work tables. He ran a hand over it. “You have a Braille printer,” he said aloud, before he could think better of it.

“What?” David asked, still distracted by the news report. When he saw Matt admiring the Braille printer, he walked over. “Oh, yeah. Frank asked me to get one. Now I know why. I guess I was making all those reports for you.” 

“It was appreciated,” Matt said sincerely. 

“I guess I don’t understand why you’d share that intel with your lawyer,” David told Frank, who’d joined them. 

“Attorney-client privilege,” Frank said, so smoothly that Matt almost arched a brow. 

“It’s just . . .” David was thinking. “If I’d known that you were planning to work with Daredevil, it’s the kinda intel you should’ve given to him.”

A sudden tension filled the space between Matt and Frank, but Lieberman was completely oblivious to it. 

“Wait a minute,” David said slowly, in a tone that indicated he’d reached some sort of epiphany. 

Matt quickly cycled through plausible denials in his head. The blind card was always the safest bet. He sensed David turning towards him. 

“Do you _know_ Daredevil?”

That’s not what Matt had been expecting, especially since giving Daredevil intel in Braille didn’t make much sense to begin with. Unless Lieberman thought there was a reason the intel had to go through Matt first, as though he were Daredevil’s handler. Lieberman wasn’t _entirely_ wrong. 

“I’ve worked with Daredevil before,” Matt said. (It was Frank’s turn to smirk.) 

“So, you brought Frank and Daredevil together?” 

Actually, Matt thought it was the other way around, but didn’t voice that opinion. “Just a mediator,” he confirmed. 

Lieberman was chuckling. “Isn’t that questionable ethics for a lawyer?” 

“Most lawyers _have_ questionable ethics,” Matt reminded him. 

“But not Murdock,” Frank interrupted. “He’s one of the good guys.” 

“He’d have to be,” Lieberman retorted. “If he puts up with you.” 

“You have no idea,” Matt said. 

“I got _some_ idea,” Lieberman returned with a grin.

* * *

Lunch went smoothly. The food was delicious, making Matt feel spoiled for having two amazing homecooked family meals in consecutive weeks. The first had been with the Nelsons during Christmas, and now with the Liebermans during New Year’s. 

_“Nelson and Karen aren’t gonna miss you?” Frank had asked him that morning._

_“No,” Matt had answered. “They’ll expect me to sleep in after last night.”_

_“’m surprised your phone isn’t ringing off the hook after the stunt we pulled,” Frank had admitted._

_“Left them both voice messages,” Matt had replied, showing how he’d anticipated his friends’ reactions. “Then I turned my cell phone off.”_

_Frank had laughed._

The massive drug bust was the one thing that wasn’t alluded to during lunch, even though everyone at the table knew about it. Frank no longer went by the Pete Castiglione alias with the Liebermans. Frank Castle had done some awful things to awful people, but he’d helped the Liebermans and had been adopted by their family in the same way that Matt and now Karen, had been adopted by the Nelsons. It was heartwarming to know this other side of Frank, the family-man that Matt was afraid had died with Frank’s own family. Observing how Frank interacted with the Liebermans, especially Leo and Zach, confirmed that Frank was still human. That he cared. That perhaps he cared _too much_. Matt shouldn’t have been too surprised, not after the way Frank had been acting around him for the past 24 hours.

It was while the dirty dishes were being brought into the kitchen, and Sarah and Zach were preparing dessert that Matt cornered Frank near the doorway to the man cave. 

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you,” Matt said, leaning against the wall of the semi-darkened hallway. 

“What?” Frank stood in front of him easy and relaxed, hands in the pockets of his jeans. 

“The mistletoe last night. On the roof. Was that your idea?”

Frank let out a low laugh. “You can tell when I’m lying, right?” 

“It was a strange place to find mistletoe, Frank.” 

“Nah, it wasn’t my idea. Didn’t see why I couldn’t take advantage of it, though.” 

“In the middle of a mission?” 

“Mission hadn’t _started_ yet.” 

“I thought lawyers were supposed to play the technicalities.”

“Murdock, you talk too much.” 

And then Frank was pushing into Matt’s space, pinning him against the wall, broad hands on Matt’s hips as Frank kissed him. 

There was a discreet cough. Frank pulled away and glanced to his right. Leo was standing there, a wide grin on her face. 

“Dessert’s ready,” she said brightly.

“Thanks,” Frank said, placing his hand on the small of Matt’s back to guide him. 

“I guess Frank’s your boyfriend after all,” Leo told Matt. 

Matt smiled, leaning back into Frank’s touch, appreciating the warmth of the other man’s body along his side. “I guess so,” he said.

**Fin.**

**Author's Note:**

> Everything belongs to Marvel and Netflix. No infringement is intended; no profit is being made.


End file.
